


La douzaine de petites morts (A dozen little deaths)

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Body Modification, Body Worship, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Butt Plugs, Clitoral orgasms, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), F/M, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Armageddon, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wing Kink, Wingfic, aziraphale is a dom, true form mentions, wingasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:43:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: It’s a cold day in hell that finds an angel and a demon together after the apocalypse. Fortunately, to Satan’s disapproval, there is indeed a bit of a brisk breeze in the depths of the pit that leaves a great many demons reporting colds and general ill feelings. Beelzebub has to sign off a significant number of temporary sick days that will be made up by the sick demon in question at the end of the century; how precisely is not something anyone quite knows as no one has had to call in sick to work in hell before.But there’s always a first time for everything.Up on earth in a little bookshop that is only sometimes open—incidentally located in Soho—a second time has begun for Crowley, demon, and Aziraphale, angel. It’s an all-round enjoyable second time and very much something both are enjoying immensely. Though, of course, the wriggling made it rather difficult to continue with the Plan and thus Aziraphale solved that problem with a little angelic power.The angelic power was positively received. Very positively.





	La douzaine de petites morts (A dozen little deaths)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/gifts).

> I wrote wing porn for Ked. Then I expanded it. Then I expanded it more. Now it's just Aziraphale worshipping Crowley until the demon basically explodes from the love and attention. It's fun. Also, "temporary character death from orgasms" should be a tag imho.
> 
> I'm hoping that title is correct but I don't know okay. I just don't.

It’s a cold day in hell that finds an angel and a demon together after the apocalypse. Fortunately, to Satan’s disapproval, there is indeed a bit of a brisk breeze in the depths of the pit that leaves a great many demons reporting colds and general ill feelings. Beelzebub has to sign off a significant number of temporary sick days that will be made up by the sick demon in question at the end of the century; _how_ precisely is not something anyone quite knows as no one has had to call in sick to work _in hell_ before.

But there’s always a first time for everything.

Up on earth in a little bookshop that is only sometimes open—incidentally located in Soho—a second time has begun for Crowley, demon, and Aziraphale, angel. It’s an all-round enjoyable second time and very much something both are enjoying immensely. Though, of course, the _wriggling _made it rather difficult to continue with the Plan and thus Aziraphale solved that problem with a little angelic power.

The angelic power was positively received. _Very positively_.

“I find it absolutely _delightful_ that your wings are so sensitive my dear,” Aziraphale says happily, fingers stroking along the point where Crowley’s right wing meets his back. The demon shudders at the sensation, white-knuckled grip on the back of the sofa tightening even more.

He’s kneeling on the sofa, facing the back of it, back ramrod straight even as he trembles from every touch Aziraphale gives him.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself at my expense, angel,” Crowley hisses, head bowed but it tips back when Aziraphale slides his fingers into the coverts of his wing, right down to the warm skin beneath.

Aziraphale chuckles at the way Crowley’s body arches into the touch, back bending back into an impossible, serpentine shape.

“I always enjoy myself with you, Crowley,” he says and Crowley makes a noise in the back of his throat at the tenderness in Aziraphale’s voice. “You’re delightful company as is but this—” a second hand slides into feathers further up Crowley’s wing, playing with the ends of his primaries “—this is _divine_.”

Crowley’s hips stutter forward the slightest amount but another sliver of Aziraphale’s power holds him still. The aborted motion, the feel of Aziraphale’s power laying itself down along Crowley’s body, has the demon moaning high-pitched and desperate.

The sound makes Aziraphale smile.

“Come now darling,” he says, running a fingertip along a particularly sensitive feather in Crowley’s secondaries, one Aziraphale had been delighted to discover drove the demon wild when touched. “I’ve barely begun tending to your wings. Must you be so impatient?”

“Easy—for you—to say—angel!” Crowley exclaims, panting. The way their wings are designed, made of their own magic and essence as angels and demons, means that Crowley’s feathers are a lot more sensitive than an earthly birds. There’s nerve-endings and whole nerve _clusters_ in his wings; something Aziraphale takes great pleasure in using to drive the demon absolutely _insane_.

And he’s very, _very_ good at it.

“You’re—you’re not—the one—getting—_ngk_!”

“I’m not the one getting ‘ngk’?” Aziraphale smirks, twisting his fingers to scratch his fingernails on the stretched skin of Crowley’s wing, making sure to catch the beginnings of the secondaries his hand is flat against. Crowley keens at the sensation, driven to wordless noises, incoherent, and it makes Aziraphale’s smirk widen.

Watching his demon become desperately wanton beneath Aziraphale’s hands is one of the most _sublime _things the angel has had the privilege of witnessing. He can’t get enough of it either.

Crowley shivers as Aziraphale brings his other hand up to spread the downy feathers at the base of his wing, air prickling against his skin and making him hiss. His teeth are bared, canines sharper than a human’s ought to be, and they barely poke into his lips, pulled back as they are. His eyes are shut, blocking Aziraphale from seeing that lovely golden hue in the mirror he may have _accidentally _miracled on the bookshelf behind the sofa. It provides the angel with a nice view of Crowley’s face, the slight flush on his cheeks, the way his hair is starting to stick to his forehead the longer Aziraphale _tends _to him.

“Come now dear boy,” Aziraphale says, leaning forward to breathe on the patagium of his wings, the barbs of the feathers moving with every inhalation. Crowley’s body is stuck in place by Aziraphale’s magic but his head is free to move, his hands able to clench and unclench the back of the sofa. It’s all he can do and it’s a restriction that, when coupled with Aziraphale’s breathe on his patagium, the cool air between the downy feathers, and those fingers playing with his primaries and secondaries, has the demon whining, head thrown back.

It is, Aziraphale decides, a _spectacular _sight. “I’ve barely started taking care of you.”

He can see the tension in Crowley’s neck through the mirror, the tense muscle and the way Crowley’s arteries stand out, pulsing with his heartbeat. His demon has lost his mind to the sensation of his wing—just one wing—being tended to by the angel. Those eyes are still shut and it does disappoint Aziraphale that he hasn’t quite managed to make Crowley open them. He _wants _to see Crowley’s eyes, watch him as his falls apart under Aziraphale’s hands, under his _love_.

Really, is that too much to ask?

The solution, of course, is to do something that makes his demon open his eyes. So that’s precisely what Aziraphale sets about to do.

Removing a hand from Crowley’s wing draws a soft whine from the demon’s throat and Aziraphale hushes him wordlessly, sliding a fingernail along the quill of a primary that seems like it may lose itself in coming days. He gives it an experimental wiggle but the feather is still snug so Aziraphale leaves it, soothing the plumulaceous barbs drawing a gentle sigh from the demon.

The sigh is accompanied by a rush of something that causes Aziraphale to reel a little. A soft undercurrent of love, like a constant humming static in a wire, slithers beneath the skin and feathers he touches. It reminds Aziraphale, quite unexpectedly, of the warm sun in Eden. Standing atop the wall, watching the sands of time begin to roll. It reminds him of red hair and golden eyes and nervous hope pooling in his chest in his immortal heart. But he moves on, not wishing to pressure the feather even if he longs for another bolt of that livewire.

Crowley is so out of it from the ecstasy of Aziraphale’s touch on his right wing that Aziraphale doubts the demon even realises Aziraphale’s attention has drifted a little further south of the point where his wing meets his human form. It’s only when Aziraphale’s hand reaches the top of Crowley’s trousers that something in the demon kicks into awareness.

“’ngel?” Crowley slurs sounding punch-drunk and—well—he rather is if the way his head lolls to the side, eyes still shut. “s’hat’s ha’pening?”

“Shh, darling, it’s quite all right,” Aziraphale soothes Crowley, stroking his fingers down the centre of the demon’s spine, along spinal discs barely visible through the muscle and tissue of this glorious, glorious demon’s corporation. “You deserve to be worshipped, my dear, and I intend to do so.”

“Nrggh, _angel_,” Crowley gasps. “Please! _Please_…”

Aziraphale presses a gentle kiss to the base of Crowley’s neck, at the point where it becomes his spine, and murmurs into the heated, warm skin, “of course, my dear. Anything for you.”

The sound Crowley makes when Aziraphale’s fingers slip into the band of his trousers, miraculously not stopped by the belt cinched tight around the demon’s waist, is nothing short of celestial sin. It makes Aziraphale’s own senses light up in a starburst of joy and adoration and _love_ that it has him stifling a noise of his own. He presses his fingers further down, between silk material and bare skin, delighting in the way Crowley’s body is trembling minutely, unable to move and writhe the way the angel knows his darling serpent wishes to. A slip of his hand up and along Crowley’s wing to the tip of his alula finds Aziraphale playing with that single little claw buried beneath feathers there. The skin around it is thicker, firmer, with muscle beneath holding the claw firm no matter what Crowley should decide to do with it, but Aziraphale knows it is as sensitive as the rest of the demon; more so perhaps.

Crowley sighs when the hand down his trousers finally reaches his pert little arse, twitching in spasmodic rhythm against the magic holding him still. The pads of Aziraphale’s fingers press against the soft flesh of his cheeks, palm against the cleft of his arse, and pressing down just enough for Crowley’s hips to shudder, trapped in Aziraphale’s magic.

Aziraphale licks his lips at the feel of Crowley’s adoration flowing through him at the point of contact, and he fancies he can sense a bit of the desire the demon has for him to keep going, but he keeps his hand where it is, kneading Crowley’s cheeks in a relentlessly soft rhythm.

At the same time, Aziraphale captures the alula claw between finger and thumb and pushes and pulls on the claw in a gentle series of firm movements that soon have Crowley’s whole body shaking and the demon moaning loudly.

But, Aziraphale notices when he looks at the mirror, Crowley’s eyes have remained shut and the angel is still deprived of his demons glorious golden eyes.

“Darling, you look so lovely like this, you know,” Aziraphale says, hand against Crowley’s arse shifting, sliding around his hip inside the trousers and the angel is forced to press against the demon’s back, head perfectly placed to press kisses against the skin between those wings. His kisses make Crowley gasp, high-pitched, and Aziraphale continues to kiss his way along Crowley’s spine between those wings, taking great care to lavish every spot of skin with his lips. “I do wish you could see yourself, kneeling with your wings out, body shaking with want, trapped by my power and _desperate_ for my touch. It’s _heavenly_. Beyond it, in fact.”

“A-Angel!” Crowley whines. It’s all Crowley seems capable of saying, _angel_, and _please_, but Aziraphale wants more than that. He wants Crowley to _beg_ him as eloquently as the Serpent of Eden is renown for.

“Oh darling, I know you can beg so much more prettily than that,” Aziraphale says, kissing up Crowley’s spine to his neck, head angling so he can press featherlight kisses to the demon’s neck. “Where is the master of Shakespeare, able to amaze audiences night after night in the Globe? Where is the public speak of Rome who challenged the gods before the Roman’s and won? Where is the Serpent of Eden who tempted Eve and stole my heart on the same day?”

Each question Aziraphale asks is accompanied with a bite, lick, or nibble of Crowley’s neck and a tug on that alula claw that is ever so sensitive to pressure. It has Crowley’s head arched back as far as he can arch back, hands gripping the sofa so tightly claws have pierced wood and upholstery. The trembling in his body is vicious and violent, so close to being too much for the gentle magic Aziraphale has used to keep the demon still. Aziraphale wonders how much further he need to push before the demon manages to overwhelm himself and the barrier containing him.

“I know you’re so good with your words my dear, dear Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, nipping at the skin behind Crowley’s ear, revelling in the taste of salt on the skin and Crowley’s whine. “I’ve seen you charm your way into whorehouses and walk out with a dozen children too young for that life. Watched you sweet talk your way out of executions in Mesopotamia for those sunspot eyes. Witnessed you challenge angels and demons and Satan with just your words. Loved you for speaking truth to a child with the power to do anything.”

A sound breaks free of Crowley’s throat that isn’t unlike a sob and Aziraphale spies in the mirror the trail of tears rolling down Crowley’s face. Praise always has undone him. Loving praise most of all.

“Ask me darling, love, beg me with your words and I’ll give you everything you need from me.”

Aziraphale’s kiss against Crowley’s neck becomes heavier, firmer than a soft press of lips, and he let’s his teeth scrape over the sweat-slick skin, feeling the vibration of Crowley’s moan echo through his body from the contact. It makes him slide the hand in Crowley’s pants round and down, pressing against the straining bulge in those trousers. Crowley’s whole body jerks in the constraints of Aziraphale’s magic, a high-pitched, loud keen reverberating around the room.

The keen dies down, replaced with panting gasps and desperate little moans that barely, barely contain enough letters to be a word, but they count. They count.

“I need you angel, I need you more than I need life, than I need the stars. I’m nothing without you. I’ve lived without you for so long, thought I lost you and was alone! Oh—I cannot survive without you. I am _nothing_ unless I have you loving me. _Please_! Please... Unless I’m with you.” Aziraphale’s hand in his trousers curls around him and Crowley’s desperate moans become loud and desperate cries. “I choose you angel! Always and forever! Oh! Oh—I will burn for you! Please—I-I’ll take a thousand blades for you! Fall! Again for you! I will, I will, I will! Angel! Oh Aziraphale! I will! I love you! I will! Please! Please, please!”

Crowley’s hips snap forward, the crystal song of Aziraphale’s magic shattering loud and mingling with Crowley’s high cries as he comes. Wings snap forth, curl over the sofa as Crowley doubles over, claws tearing through wood and upholstery with strength greater than any human. Aziraphale follows, plastered to Crowley’s back, hand still stroking him, milking him of every last drop the demon has. The hand that had gripped the alula claw grips Crowley’s hip in an embrace strong enough to bruise skin and muscle.

“You’re beautiful darling, absolutely beautiful.” Aziraphale presses his forehead against Crowley’s back, breathing as heavily as his lovely demon, still shaking and trembling beneath him. “I will never grow tired of this, of loving you.”

Crowley’s hips stutter forward, shoving his softening cock into Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale feels the way Crowley shivers at the stimulation of the angel’s calloused palm on his spent cock. The angel smiles into the back of Crowley’s back, pressing his hips forward, grinding against Crowley’s arse in a slow rhythm that makes the demon whine and his hips jitter forward again.

He keeps grinding, enjoying the way Crowley’s whole body is a trembling wreck beneath him, cock so sensitive the demon is near in tears from the overstimulation. Aziraphale kisses down his spine, scrapes his teeth along the ridges of his spine, and Crowley’s back bows.

“I said I’d worship you my love,” Aziraphale breathes, the hand on Crowley’s hips releasing. “I’m going to do that all night.” He snaps his fingers.

His clothes are gone, Crowley’s also, and Aziraphale groans in pleasure when his own cock grinds against Crowley’s arse, sliding down the cleft of his cheeks. Crowley’s cock, free of the confines of his sticky trousers, is exposed to the cold air and the demon slams his hips forward, body arching as it makes his cock all the more sensitive to Aziraphale’s touch.

“Now, now, dear,” Aziraphale tuts when Crowley whines and tries to shift away from Aziraphale’s hand. “I’m taking care of you the way you so desperately need to be taken care of, you know that.” He kisses Crowley’s neck, hand on Crowley’s cock sliding along it, twisting at the wrist every so often so his thumb can drag across the tip. It makes Crowley keen. “All you have to do is enjoy it. You deserve to have some enjoyment in your life, love.”

Aziraphale uses his other hand to press at the skin behind Crowley’s balls, neat fingernails lightly biting into the sensitive skin and making Crowley jump on the sofa. He thinks his fingers slick and slowly slides it between Crowley’s cheeks, pressing on the ring of muscle there over and over in light jabbing motions that have the demon trembling. His cock is hardening rapidly, the constant friction from Aziraphale’s hand overwhelming the organ and Crowley’s senses. It’s wonderful to hear every little sound his demon lets loose the longer Aziraphale worships him like this.

The angel does so enjoy taking his lover apart and putting him back together after.

“I wonder, dear,” Aziraphale says conversationally, even as he presses a finger inside of Crowley, the demon groaning in a truly sinful manner and making Aziraphale’s cock leap. “If you might enjoy some other parts for the later section of the evening. I don’t imagine this glorious cock of yours is going to last considering how much I want you to come.” Crowley whines. “It’ll be quite a delight if you have another little spot I can sink myself into and worship you via, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale crooks the finger inside Crowley and the demon’s legs tremble, arse cheeks clenching _beautifully _around Aziraphale’s hand. “Darling, do answer me please.”

“Nrrrhnnn yes! Yess aangell!” Crowley’s head falls back and his eyes- oh his eyes are wide _open_. How wonderful. Aziraphale rests his head against the side of Crowley’s own, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as the demon pants and writhes on the finger inside him, torn between fucking the hand on his cock or the finger up his arse. It’s deliciously cruel of Aziraphale to drag this out quite so long but Crowley looks so very divine like this that he—well—he can’t quite bring himself to stop. “A-angel!”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I ought not keep you like this too long,” Aziraphale says somewhat reluctantly, slipping a second finger inside Crowley, spreading and scissoring him as he goes. It draws a debauched noise from Crowley’s parted lips that Aziraphale wants to hear again but _louder_ so he purposefully crooks his fingers inside and searches for a specific spot.

He knows when he finds it because Crowley’s whole body spasms. His cock spurts all over the sofa and Aziraphale’s hand around it and the angel wastes no time in milking it empty. The fingers in Crowley’s arse rub and press over the little gland inside in a chaotic little pattern that has the demon near howling because Aziraphale doesn’t _stop_. He keeps going long past the point when Crowley’s cock is again spent and limp in the angel’s hand. He keeps going beyond the point where Crowley’s arse is loose enough that three, then four fingers slip in with ease.

Aziraphale keeps going, rubbing and rubbing, until the last possible second before he pulls his fingers out of Crowley’s arse with a satisfied noise and replaces them with his cock. The demon is barely responsive at this point, having come at least twice more in the time after his second orgasm, prostrate driven and dry. He’s flopped over the back of the sofa, body pressed against the damaged upholstery and Aziraphale makes sure it cannot harm Crowley in any way as he bottoms out and holds there for a long, long moment.

Unlike the demon, Aziraphale has always favoured not letting his corporeal form ruling his angelic being unless he wishes it to. It is for this reason that Crowley is spent beyond reason and Aziraphale has been mostly calm and collected the entire time he’s been dismantling the demon. Crowley’s wings are as limp as the rest of him, sprawled out on either side of the sofa, the tips of his primaries brushing the floor, and Aziraphale decides that no, that won’t do at all.

His darling demon may be spent in a mortal sense but there is far, far more to Crowley than just a mortal form. There are more orgasms to be dragged from him, more ecstasy and bliss to be elicited and Aziraphale intends to worship Crowley until there is nothing left of him except exhausted love and contentment.

So he reaches with both hands, removing the one on Crowley’s cock, and slides them into the thick coverts of each wing. Immediately Crowley’s body tenses around his cock, a wonderful bit of pressure that Aziraphale rocks into languidly. Then the whining comes.

“A-angel! O—hnnnn—angel!” Crowley cries and he sounds so _broken_ that Aziraphale doesn’t stop his body from reacting to it, thrusting more firmly into Crowley, kneading the coverts right down to the skin and making Crowley gasp. “M-more! More—I—more!”

The scalupurs at the base of Crowley’s wings, where they meet his human form, are quivering like they’re alive, and before Aziraphale’s eyes start to shift and change. Hardening into scales that still look so like feathers and, when Aziraphale runs a hand over them, feel like feathers. The touch has Crowley clenching around him, burning heat building to an inferno of passion, desire, and _love_ until even Aziraphale’s control is not enough to drive deeper and harder into the demon.

Crowley’s whole body spasms like a mountain crumbling under the relentless strength of a tectonic shift that boils seas and splits whole continents. It sends Aziraphale over the edge, his hips slamming into Crowley’s, cock spending itself inside his demon in burning cold bursts of angelic grace. Crowley’s cock paints the back of the sofa, adding more come to the mess there already, stinging heat that has the demon hissing and writhing as he can do nothing more than exist in this world of bliss.

Aziraphale falls against Crowley’s back, panting. Hands clench rhythmically in the feathers of the demon’s wings and Crowley whimpers at the sensation of nerves set alight as he comes down from his latest climax. The angel gives himself a few minutes to collect himself, pleased to remain seated inside Crowley’s arse, cock still hard because Aziraphale _wishes _it to be so.

He has more he intends to do to Crowley tonight. Much, much more.

“I wonder if I met you before the war in heaven, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, kissing Crowley’s shoulder along the freckles speckling the demon’s shoulders. Sun kisses. They look beautiful on Crowley’s pale skin, flushed red as it is, but Aziraphale finds them to not be enough. His demon is beautiful in a way the sun cannot possibly compare. So his gives Crowley his own kisses atop those little constellations, revelling in the way Crowley’s whole being swallows each line of affection from the angel. His darling demon. So starved for love. It is fortunate that Aziraphale has love that is unending for Crowley for it is clear his darling demon needs every drop of it that the angel can give him.

“Do you think, if we had, you and I would still have fought heaven and hell?” Aziraphale trails his fingers through the gossamer like coverts where they bleed into soft down. “Perhaps I could have loved you enough that we could have been happy before it all went so wrong for heaven. But no. No. I like you as you are my dear. I only wish I had known you longer, loved you longer, so that I could have not wasted such time worrying over what others ought think of us. I cannot undo it,” Aziraphale continues, kissing the ridge of Crowley’s spine, salt and heat and _love _blooming under his lips.

“Though to spare you even an ounce of pain, I would,” the angel confesses in a whisper of admission that reaches into the near insensate demon and curls around the aching, worn heart of Crowley. “You’re sublime and perfect and never should have been treated as you have. By God or myself. My dear, _darling_ Crowley.”

Aziraphale kisses Crowley’s back one last time and breathes against him, eyes shut. “I’m sorry my dear, so, so sorry.”

A hand reaches back, blindly, and searches for Aziraphale, latching on to the angel’s side with trembling fingers. There’s such a burning blast of love from it that Aziraphale’s heart _aches_ from it. Crowley is past words now but the demon is never beyond loving his angel, and showing it in some way.

Aziraphale isn’t quite sure he deserves that sort of dedication but... But he craves it as much as Crowley craves him so that will have to do. The angel is selfish enough to covet this. To refuse to give it up.

“I think, love, that it may be time for a change of scenery, don’t you? “Aziraphale asks, voice silk soft and trailing over Crowley’s heated, exhausted form. There’s a vague sense of agreement from the demon that Aziraphale senses through the hand on his side so the angel brings a hand up and _snaps_.

From the sofa in the bookshop to their shared bed in the transplanted flat above it, Aziraphale and Crowley move through space in the span of a millisecond to lay together upon the plush sheets. The angel is still seated inside Crowley and, only when the demon is pressing his face into the rich bedding, does Aziraphale slowly slide out, pausing when Crowley’s body tenses at the motion. A thought comes to the angel just moments before he’s fully out of Crowley’s arse and, in a fit of inspiration, Aziraphale magics a plug he smoothly slides into Crowley’s arse the moment his cock is out. The demon writhes weakly on the bed at the sensation, a breathy gasp of something beyond pleasure muffled by the bedding.

“I need you to turn my dear, do you think you can do that or ought I do it for you?” Aziraphale asks gently, waiting for a response from the demon that isn’t insensate. It takes a while and Aziraphale does wonder just how far gone Crowley is but eventually, after a good long few minutes, the demon croaks out a sound approaching coherent.

“Nnnnhnnn.” The noise, fortunately, is accompanied by a sort of weak half-shrug that Aziraphale interprets as Crowley having no idea if he’s able to control his body right now or not. Aziraphale strokes down the demon’s back gently, Crowley’s muscles quivering under his hand.

“I’ll help then, dear one,” Aziraphale decides and there’s no sense of resistance from Crowley so the angel, mindful of the still manifested wings, carefully manoeuvre’s the demon onto his back, wings splayed on either side of him in a magnificent array of ink night on deep red tartan covers.

The whole expanse of Crowley’s body is flushed red, painted in shades of ecstasy and disrupted scale-like patches that look wondrous. His cock is limp and twitching, spent so many times that Aziraphale doubts there’s anything left for it to give in climax. Crowley’s face is something else entirely though.

“Goodness but you’re _divine_ like this.”

Mouth open slightly, lips devilishly ripe and red just begging to be kissed, eyes half-lidded, golden embers peeking out around the edges of consuming black pupils, cheeks sharp and magnificent, emphasised in all the right ways by the sweat-soaked red hair bleeding deep umber.

Aziraphale sees in Crowley the face of the divine and though he finds it sacrilegious to think, it’s true as he leans down and captures those lips in a wet, messy kiss.

“Darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, breaking the kiss eventually and resting his forehead against Crowley’s own. He can see his eyes, blue and possibly glowing, barely reflected back in Crowley’s own, the black hole pupils swallowing so much light there’s barely anything reflected. Crowley makes a noise that is of awareness though not much else. “My dear, might I take the liberty of replacing your cock with something else to worship you with? I daresay you shall enjoy it immensely.”

Aziraphale gently curls a hand around Crowley’s spent cock, soothing away the noise the demon makes at the contact with a kiss to his brow. He shifts the organ, pulling on it with his power, reshaping it, pushing it in and in and in until what was external becomes internal and there’s a lush wetness around Aziraphale’s fingers when he’s done. “The human body is remarkable, love, isn’t it?” The angel asks though the question is rhetorical, his fingers inside gently stroking the textured walls of Crowley’s newly formed vulva. “That a penis is the same as this glorious vulva I’ve got my fingers buried in only one forms beyond the body and one remains within it. That head of your cock, for example, now is this little nub just here—” Aziraphale uses his thumb and rubs on the hood of Crowley’s vulva, pressing against the sensitive glans beneath it, making the demon whine and legs tremble “—happens to the be the clitoris and it’s quite the sensitive little thing. I can bring you off over and over just by rubbing it you know? Would you like that my love? My fingers inside you, stroking those lovely engorged walls of you while my thumb fucks that little clit? I think you would.”

Whatever noises Crowley is capable of making are so high-pitched and desperate sounding that Aziraphale smiles, pressing his thumb over and over against the demon’s clit, making certain to keep the pressure constant but never quite enough to overwhelm Crowley too quickly. He wants his precious demon _thrashing _with need before Aziraphale will give him his first clitoral orgasm of the night.

The first of many.

Aziraphale twists his fingers inside Crowley—only two of them, the others are gently spreading the labia majora and minora so the angel can see his fingers seated inside Crowley’s arousal—and searches for the hardness of the plug sheathed in Crowley’s arse. He brushes against it, just barely, but the reaction from Crowley is immediate. The demon’s whole body tenses, leg muscles cramping and twitching. His arms fly up, reaching for Aziraphale, and latch onto the angel with a strength that’s surprising considering how spent the demon is. His wings flare up and out, curved upwards off the bed and the feathers are _shaking_. Around Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley’s body clenches and spasms. The demon lets out a scream that is more broken and elated than the most venerable choirs of heaven have ever managed to be.

The first orgasm of Crowley’s new vulva isn’t even clitoral but it is seraphic and Aziraphale fancies he can feel the burning heat of the demon’s trueform crackling away in ecstasy.

Eventually Crowley’s body slackens, muscles releasing the tension of orgasm, and his wings fall back against the bed, primaries hanging over the edge of the king-size bed. Aziraphale gently slides his fingers out of Crowley’s vaginal opening, feeling the delicious shivering of the muscles inside the demon as he does so. The sound is obscene but it’s wonderful to hear in tandem with Aziraphale’s own beating heart, breathing, and the whistling breathes from an exhausted demon. For a brief moment, Aziraphale considers tasting the demon on his fingers, but the desire to play with Crowley’s clit is too strong an urge to ignore. His slick fingers are coated in the evidence of Crowley’s orgasm and Aziraphale replaces his thumb on the demon’s clit, rubbing and pressing on the gland with purpose.

Crowley’s body shudders, breathy moans and keening hisses drawn from the demon as Aziraphale rubs intensely on that little nub, never letting up on the sensation until Crowley’s whole body is shaking. The demon whines. He keens. He almost begs but the words aren’t coherent, just the intention behind them, and Aziraphale smiles, delicately pressing kisses along Crowley’s neck and chest, making sure to lave over the nipples that are so pert they look like they’re carved from red marble. His other hand, free to explore, slithers up and into the wing nearest to it—the left this time. Slides up between secondary flight feathers and up and up through the secondary coverts until the tips of his fingers are just at the edge of the patagium beneath the lesser coverts. His nails dig softly into the sensitive skin and Crowley’s whole body tenses, back arching.

The demon comes with a _scream_.

A flash of heat. Fire. And the hand in Crowley’s wing is removed, dragging along the feathers and skin with nails that has the demon howling wordlessly beneath the angel. Throughout it all, Aziraphale keeps rubbing Crowley’s clit, not letting up even when the demon’s breathing is increasingly more and more erratic, hands spasming around Aziraphale’s shoulders, legs quivering, hips twitching up and down. Whether he’s trying to get away from Aziraphale’s fingers or trying to press against them _more_, Aziraphale doesn’t quite know but the angel doesn’t doubt that Crowley is loving every second of his worship. The demon just longs to be taken apart like this at times and Aziraphale, as always, is all too willing to oblige.

“I haven’t even nestled my cock inside your beautiful vulva darling, and here you are, coming a second time just from some attention from my fingers,” Aziraphale smiles. Crowley whines at his words. “I can only imagine how much you’re going to come undone when I’m inside you again, with that pretty plug inside you too. Would you like me to make it larger? I can do that. Fill you up so I can love you more deeply? Do you want me to do that my dear? I can. I can do that for you.”

Crowley keens at Aziraphale’s words, body reacting to the angel’s suggestions and Aziraphale understands that although Crowley is beyond words now he’s still _aware_. He still needs _more_.

So the angel gives him more.

The plug, a moderate size as is, expands inside the demon’s arse, lengthening and thickening, warped until it sports thick ridges that, when Aziraphale is nestled in Crowley’s vulva, will rub unendingly on the demon’s prostate. Crowley’s hips twist on the bed, legs spread by Aziraphale nestled between them trying to spread further and a _moan _is torn from the demon’s throat that sends a bolt down the angel’s spine.

Aziraphale’s patience has been steadily stripped the longer he’s worshipped his demon and, finally, it snaps. He cannot wait much longer to be inside Crowley again. He simply _can’t_.

“I apologise, love,” Aziraphale says, finally pulling his fingers away from Crowley’s swollen, flushed clit. The demon whines at the loss. “But I _desperately_ need to be inside you now.”

Aziraphale moves up the bed, knees pushing Crowley’s legs even wider, making the demon’s arse-cheeks clench and the action elicits a moan from Crowley that makes Aziraphale’s control hang by a thread. The angel is determined to gently enter his demon, to rock into him over and over until Crowley’s entire being is nothing more than pleasure, and by heaven _that is what Aziraphale will do_.

Crowley’s body is trembling, wings twitching, the longer Aziraphale leans over him, cock just touching the edges of the demon’s labia majora, and Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s face. The demon’s eyes are wide open and pleading, lips parted and flushed a deep red. The golden circles around his pupils are like halos and Aziraphale loses himself in them even as he slowly pushes in. His cock is enveloped by the searing heat of Crowley’s vulva, dragging between the labia minora and down the opening in a steadily slow motion that has them both groan. His balls press against the base of Crowley’s vulva, a secure weight against his prostate and the plug in Crowley’s arse.

Crowley lets out a litany of whines and keening gasps that grow louder and more desperate when Aziraphale slowly rocks his hips, little thrusting motions into the velvet heat of the demon. The base of his cock rubs on the bottom of Crowley’s vulva and through the wall of his vagina to press against the plug, shifting it in small motions that serve to have Crowley clawing weakly at Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“A-oh-ang-a-angel!”

Around Aziraphale’s cock, Crowley’s body clenches again, another orgasm rocking through the demon and against his crotch, Aziraphale feels a wet heat that spreads and flows down to the sheets below. The plug in Crowley’s arse is obviously on his prostate, giving him relentless sensation through it and the angel wastes no time in adding his thumb to Crowley’s clit as he continues to thrust languidly into the demon. Wings fly up, spasming themselves in a shivering mass of noise that sounds like a crescendo of an explosion, the splitting of the atom, the beginning of the universe, and Aziraphale is nestled in the core of it.

His thrusts become more forceful, deeper, and stronger, the longer he rubs Crowley’s clit, keeping the demon trapped in a cycle of rapture until Crowley’s skin starts to shine, veins of heat and light bleeding out across the constellation-marked body. The burning sense of Crowley’s being serves to be what undoes Aziraphale himself and the angel’s hips rock forward, stilling as his cock releases inside Crowley’s velvet heat, a perfect counterpart to the what is trapped still in Crowley’s arse by the plug.

A flash of light engulfs the bedroom, whiting out existence for a split-second before it all returns and Aziraphale falls against Crowley’s chest, spent and exhausted himself. He can barely think beyond the buzzing euphoria of his being and it’s a wonder Crowley has remained alert throughout this whole thing, but the feel of a shaking, trembling arm curling around Aziraphale’s waist has the angel pressing his head into the crook of Crowley’s neck and breathing in the scent of his demon.

“I—think—love,” Aziraphale pants, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of Crowley’s jaw. “That—I’d—like—to worship you—more. But for now—” the angel raises a tired hand and snaps his fingers “—for now, I’ll settle for my come inside you, waiting for me to release it.”

His cock slips out easily and the second plug Aziraphale has miracled takes it’s place inside Crowley’s vulva, pressing deliciously on the sensitive, swollen labia minora, and drawing a weak whine from the demon.

Aziraphale presses a gentle kiss to the spot above Crowley’s clit. “I would very much like to see you with a vibrator next time, love,” the angel says and Crowley’s eyes roll back in his head, body twitching even as he comes again just from the idea of a vibrator inside him.

Aziraphale breathes in the smell of Crowley, the scent of his orgasms, and with one last gentle kiss to the top of Crowley’s pubis, moves back up the demon, to pull him into his arms. The wings beneath the demon are messed up, feathers sticking out haphazardly and Aziraphale sighs.

“I suppose I’m going to have to groom your wings again in a while, my dear,” he comments and Crowley, curled against his side, wings fading back into the ether they reside in, shivers. “Yes, I’m certain I’ll have to. How utterly delightful.”

One last miracle by the angel clears them of the collective substances from their several hours of Crowley worship and the blankets settle over their nude forms.

“You did ever so well, handling my devotion to you,” the angel praises the demon, who shivers and presses deeper into Aziraphale’s embrace. “I am so impossibly proud of you and ever so pleased at how well you did. It’s is beyond what I expected, for you to take so very much and still want _more_. I have so much love for you dear, and I am so happy to have shown you it, to have _gifted_ you some like this.”

Crowley makes a sound in the back of his throat, eyes shut tight, and there’s a light dampness against Aziraphale’s chest that the angel recognises as tears. He sighs and presses a kiss to the crown of Crowley’s head. “That’s right darling, you’re loved,” the angel murmurs, stroking soothing hands down Crowley’s back. “So, so loved. I have never loved anything as much as I do you. Never shall I either.”

Crowley’s tears die down the longer Aziraphale murmurs to him of his love and devotion for the demon, hands soothing and gentle on his back. By the time his tears are done, the demon is relaxed and pliant in Aziraphale’s embrace. He has just enough awareness to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck before the angel feels the point Crowley’s awareness slips away and the demon falls into the sweet embrace of slumber.

“I will fight all of creation for you, love,” Aziraphale whispers, before he too closes his eyes and lets sleep take him for the first time in a long while. With Crowley in his arms, the discomfort of slumber is absent, and the angel is happy to welcome the rest his human form seeks.

They sleep through the delivery man at the door of the bookshop the next morning. It takes three days for them to awake and take the letter in the mailbox to the desk to open.

It takes all of three minutes to read the letter and for Aziraphale to look rather proud at the reprimand from heaven and hell both for the independent contractors Crowley and Aziraphale for ‘accidental revelation of being on the mortal plane’. He frames the reprimand in the bedroom and asks Crowley to read it aloud the next time the angel decides he wants to worship the demon.

It results in a second reprimand but this one is returned by Crowley with a note attached reading: the fuck was too good to pass up, try it sometime and maybe you’ll stop being such dicks.

Heaven and hell both agree to ignore any further instances of being revelations within the premises of Aziraphale’s bookshop or Crowley’s flat. It’s for the best really.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos, as always, sustain me :)


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